


Reasons to Stop

by musicaldork



Category: Herbert West - Reanimator - H. P. Lovecraft, Re-Animator (Movies)
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Age Difference, Boss/Employee Relationship, Clothed Sex, Daddy Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasizing, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, Reader-Insert, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sex, Vaginal Sex, also this is beyond! age herbert, readers gender isnt specified but they wear a skirt and lipgloss, so if thats not ur speed... sorry, the movie was not good but fuck if he didnt look amazing in it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:00:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24923482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicaldork/pseuds/musicaldork
Summary: There’s an easy list of reasons why you should stop being so attracted to Dr. Herbert West.Unfortunately, not a single one of these reasons stopped you from touching yourself to the thought of him, alone in your room at night.Request: Herbert West's S/O accidentally calls him daddy.
Relationships: Herbert West/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59





	Reasons to Stop

_There’s an easy list of reasons why you should stop being so attracted to Dr. Herbert West._

_Number one: He was your boss.  
It was unethical to think of him that way._

You let out an inaudible sigh as you sized up his hands, so big, fingers so thick that they’d feel so good inside you and… shit.

_Number two: He was twice your age._

Analysing the furrow of his brow, the deep-set lines of his forehead and his unfortunately fine features, you almost snapped your note-taking pencil in two with a desperately white-knuckled grip. 

...Oh, _fuck_.

_Number three: He was the most tightly-laced man you’d ever met in your life.  
He’d probably never be interested._

You looked him straight in the eye with a confidence you did not feel, sweating profusely at the profound possibility that he might see just how dilated your pupils were, and draw his own conclusions from there. 

He might fire you, even.

That wouldn’t do. You really needed this gig, as shady and macabre as it could be - the pay was good and the company unfortunately better.

These were _plenty_ of reasons for you to stop pining over a lost cause.

Unfortunately, not a single one of these reasons stopped you from touching yourself to the thought of him bending you over and taking you hard while you called him daddy - when you found yourself alone in your room at night.

And it certainly didn’t stop you from absentmindedly popping open a button or two lower than necessary on your blouse. 

Or plumping your lips with a sweeter, shiner lipgloss than you’d usually go for, when you knew you’d be speaking with him. 

Or bending over to reach for supplies a little more exaggeratedly than you would have had you not known that he was behind you - and that his eyes were squarely on you.

\---

Every time you get caught up in _just_ how well he wears his age, you have to furiously remind yourself that he’s your _boss_.

If any other employer talked to you as briskly as he often did, you’d likely already be out the door.

So why - when it came from him - did it make you _so goddamn wet_?

\---

Herbert didn’t dedicate so much of his life to his research just to get sidetracked by an innocently seductive young thing like you.

Though not quite as spry as he used to be in his youth, he had grown into his skin quite nicely. Grown more self-assured, the outright narcissism of his youth tempered lightly by age.

It took some time to grow used to you.

Understandably, he was wary that you might head off to the police when the specifics of his ‘ _experiments_ ’ became apparent.

Oddly enough, you never flinched at any of the grisly details. 

On the contrary, you were quite delighted by his progress - enthusiastic about the project, and learned in just the right way to at once stroke his ego and earn his begrudging respect.

By now he’s accepted you as a semi-reluctant equal in intellect.  
Despite the years apart, you were as quick-minded and excellent as he, the closest thing to a ‘perfect’ assistant he’s had yet.

None of this would be a problem had you not looked so damn _tempting_ all the time.

Herbert only entertains the fanciful notion of truly having you when he can resist it no longer.

Reluctantly, he takes himself in hand - heavy and deliciously thick, already _dripping_ with precum - driving himself to the edge with a furious pace, set in the stead of an intense sexual frustration.

He’s breathless when he thinks of your perfume - something implacably sweet, yet incredibly irresistible to him. 

And it’s the only thing he can think about when he cums, painting his stomach in thick spurts of white.

\---

God, he looked _good_.

He always looked good. You knew that better than anybody in the world.

There was just something about him today.

Clad in his usual attire, there shouldn’t have been anything noticeably different, but he just seemed so… authoritative. A domineering force than he had been the days prior. The traitorous voice in your head whispered that if you taunted him a little, just maybe he’d take that pent-up dominant energy and turn it on you. 

An _awful_ idea - sure to get you fired.

A _tempting_ idea, to be sure.

Maybe it was just you, but the unspoken thing between the two of you felt as ready to reach a fever pitch as it ever would be.

The workload is minimal today, and still he called you in… for what?

From the severe expression on his face, you don’t think you’ll get an answer, even if you ask.

His gaze is cold and calculating behind his glasses. It makes you want to do anything he asks of you.  
You could already feel yourself, already uncomfortably turned on; the brusque quality of his voice slicking your inner thighs. 

You’ve entirely tuned out of his directive rant, startled out of your porn fantasy when you hear him ask you a question.

“...to take the- Are you even listening to me?”

“Oh! Uh- yes, daddy.”

The intersection of fantastical daydream and his attitude today seem to have aligned just perfectly enough to _ruin your entire life_.

You’re suddenly overcome with a wave of mortification so hot you think you might just drop straight off the face of the planet, frozen in place and unable to draw in breath.

Already, you’re running through plans in your mind on how to change your name and move halfway across the world to escape this unendurable humiliation.

You couldn’t look at him if you tried. You did not try.

Not usually one to run away, you think you’d do whatever you had to in order to escape this _godforsaken silence_.

“... _Daddy?_ Hmm.”

If there’s a rumble of something unexpectedly pleased in his voice, you don’t allow yourself to attach to it - to that little sliver of awful, awful hope.

Slowly, Herbert begins to move around his desk.   
He starts to tidy up his notes with a startling nonchalance, tucking anything important away into his side drawers. 

It feels like he’s circling you like a predator, waiting for the slightest miscalculation on behalf of his prey to strike.  
One wrong move and he’ll be there to catch you in his grasp. 

This... faux affability is truly jarring. It’s worse than if he’d just told you to leave, go and never come back. 

You’ve never felt more on edge in your life.

“I am so sorry, Dr. West. That was a mistake. It’ll never happen again,” you propose gingerly, almost shaking with your own nerves. 

Meeting his eyes right now could not even be a possibility.

You just wait, taut with trepidation, for him to finally talk. Acknowledge… whatever this whole mess even is between the two of you. 

The unexpectedness of his next words knock the sense right out of you.

“Tell me, little girl. Is that really the first time you’ve thought of calling me daddy?”

There were options here.  
You could lie. 

Say that it was a slip-up, pretend you didn’t feel this mutual attraction between the two of you, deny it until kingdom come. 

You so easily could.  
But somehow, this felt like a reckoning.  
And you’re tired of skirting around the issue.

_To hell with it._

“No. I think about it a lot, actually.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear. Alright. Now... I trust that you’re too sharp not to know what this is becoming. So I ask you. Do you really want this?”

A silent, doubting question hovers in the air between you, something light and strange in its transcendence.

_Do you really want_ **_me_ ** _?_

The answer couldn’t be clearer to you.

“ _Yes_. I want this, if you’ll have me. So… _how do you want me_?”

It’s a simple question. And yet somehow, it carries so much weight, dripping off your lips in dulcet, honeyed tones.

_“I want you on your knees.”_

You’ve never heard a more perfect sentence in your life.

Dropping to your knees, you crawl towards him until you’re almost in his lap, seized by a hunger catastrophic.

And suddenly you realise that agency is back in your hands. 

He may be in charge, but you have power here; looking like vulnerable prey with the mindset of the _huntress_.

Your hands - _so much more delicate than his own_ \- trail to his button and zipper.  
Herbert shifts, but allows you to pull him out of the constraints of his boxers. 

And oh- he’s so much thicker than you might’ve thought… _deliciously so._

Throat bobbing with anticipation, your mouth waters at the thought of finally having him exactly where you want him.

Trailing light, mouthing kisses down the length of him, Herbert’s hand fixes itself in your hair, starting to tug impatiently at your teasing.

And as fun as it would be to play and flirt around it, you truly want to see how he would look with a little less of that perfectly curated pretence of his - and how far to wrecked you can get him under your touch.

Your mouth is at once so hot and wet around him, cheeks hollowing out. Herbert can feel the flutter of the back of your throat swallowing around him and he wants to chase that feeling to the edge of the world.

You give him no chance for reprieve, hand stroking at the base of him - _whatever you can’t fit around_ \- tongue dancing across his slit and relishing in the taste of him, leaking excited precum. 

No matter the attempts to pull himself together and pretend that he’s the one in control, the moment you meet his eyes - lips still stretched around him - you know that you hold his pleasure in your hands. 

And right now, in this moment, this pleasure is his entire world. 

You think you understand why he revels in that rush of power so much.

It’s a thing of wonder to see how something like this can so easily bring a man like him to his metaphorical knees - a man in charge reduced in the prettiest of downfalls.

Every low, heady groan he makes just makes you want to take him deeper, down to the base of him, tongue working overtime against his heated skin. 

You let out a pleased hum around him, the vibrations wonderful against his shredded nerves and-

...suddenly, you’re bewildered, as he quickly pulls you off of him - his breaths huffing out in laboured pants - shallow and quick, a sound hoarse and delirious with pleasure.

You don’t have time to ask why before you’re turned around and slammed against his desk, the feeling of him stroking you between your thighs whiting out your mind of all coherency.

There’s no getting around it. Herbert is a shorter man, of a decidedly slighter stature.  
But with you in his grasp - so much younger than he… he feels physically imposing, for once in his life.

The power is somehow reciprocal.  
He’s almost old enough to be your father, and yet you’ve reduced him to a horny, hormonal teenager, controlled by his baser desires.

He’d find it infuriating if he didn’t enjoy it so much.

Herbert braces himself against your back, your hiked-up skirt bunched between your bodies and his hand relentless in its mission to ready you for him.  
It feels good but you can’t help but sigh with impatience, already drooling helplessly around his fingers. 

You’ve worked for him for months. You’ve lusted over him for most of that time.  
You’ve waited long enough that all you want is to have him - have _all_ of him.

Arching your back like a kitten, you present yourself to him, already wet and worked open for him. 

Your lipgloss is smudged, and you look so alluringly debauched beneath him, pinned by the weight of his body over yours. He relishes in the power he has over you, slutty and desperate for his cock.

There are so many words Herbert thinks he could use to describe you.

_Coquettish. Sly. Seductive._  
Paradoxically dripping with innocence and feline charm all at once. 

But when you turn and throw him a deliberate look over your shoulder, from under your eyelashes, your sultry eyes set him ablaze.

There were so many possible descriptors for you, so why shouldn’t you try on the word _‘his’_ for size?

Wiggling your hips back against him with bratty impatience, he stilled you with a quick, warning swat to your ass.  
A silent warning that you’d only get what he deemed you deserving of and not an inch more.

Nervous at the prospect of him leaving you, needy and dressed-down on his table, you stilled your hips - as much as you wanted to rub yourself against him like a bitch in heat.

Pushing forward, he grunted against the feeling of finally having you stretched around him.  
Giving you little time to adjust, his hips take on a bruising pace as he pounds you into the table, the way he’s wanted to do for far too damn long.

A young, pretty little thing like you could have anybody wrapped around your finger. And yet it was him you chose. 

The realisation makes him greedy. You can feel it in his touch and in his need, aching delightfully, just for you.

Pinned down against his desk, you splay your hands out against it, trying to ground yourself to something- _anything_.

Herbert has you filled up to your breaking point, rubbing relentless circles against your clit with a free hand and _fuck,_ it’s the best kind of torture there is. 

You find yourself embarrassingly close to the edge already, and you can tell that he knows it, from the tightening of your walls around him.

“... _Do you want to cum?”_

Wordlessly, you nod as soon as you can register the meaning through the haze of your mind - the unsaid words stuck in your throat. 

_I do. I need to. More than anything._

“I’m going to need words out of you, babygirl.”

Your eyes flutter shut involuntarily at the pet name, torturous in his low, rich timbre. God, you wanted to die with that sound on your tongue.

“.. _.Yes! Fuck, I want it so bad, daddy, please give it to me,_ ” you wail, your voice pitching up an octave out of sheer desperation. The words escape you with a rush of air you weren’t aware you were holding back.

_“Then cum for your daddy._ ” 

He growls out the words like an animal unhinged, and you can feel his breath fan hotly against the back of your neck.  
You can do nothing but bend to the whims of your body with his express permission.

Reaching your peak doesn’t feel like a moment of shattering.  
Instead, it’s a building euphoria in a rush of letting go, something wound deep inside you snapping and cutting the taut bowstrings. 

The only thing you can do is lean into the feeling, overwhelmed and barely cognisant of Herbert - pulling out to paint your skin with his own long-awaited release.

Slumping tiredly against his desk, you tried to catch your breath, leaning back against the comforting solidness of the object of your many desires.

It was there you found that there were far more reasons to start than there ever would be in the converse.


End file.
